


Bittersweet Symphony

by Queenofthebees



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Identity Issues, Implied Sexual Content, Post-Canon, Tumblr Prompt, and flee to Essos for safety, details, or they made it but they never see them again, pretty much everyone else died, they lose the war, whatever
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-20
Updated: 2018-09-20
Packaged: 2019-07-14 21:26:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16048874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Queenofthebees/pseuds/Queenofthebees
Summary: For the prompt I got: Could you write a Jonsa fic in which Jon and Sansa lose the war and they'll change their names and live somewhere (let's say at the seaside) in bittersweet happiness





	Bittersweet Symphony

**Author's Note:**

> Lets just assume the dragons died so NK can't follow. He's happily chilling (ha!) in Westeros while the living are hanging in Essos. Whatever...its fanfiction so we can make the rules :p

He had thought it would be harder, sadder.

But as he stared out at the disappearing Westerosi coastline, he felt nothing but relief. Relief that the burden was over. Relief that though they had lost overall, been forced to retreat, they were alive. He and Sansa were alive.

Others who had survived the battle had fled for the harbours. Jon had only just had time to get Sansa from the safety point, where she had been comforting the women and children. He had tugged her away, yelling for her to leave everything and run.

He had seen Sam and Gilly get onto one of the boats, Gilly clutching little Sam close to her chest. Brienne was in another.

Ghost though, didn’t make it. He had turned at the last moment, giving Jon time to haul the boat into the water and lift himself and Sansa in. His dire wolf had taken a last stand against the dead, saving he and Sansa in his stead.

That was what hit Jon the hardest, the fact that with Ghost dead, in some way, he was too. Without Ghost, he was not Jon Snow. He was not a Stark at all.

When he realised that Sam and the others were on another ship and the likelihood of seeing them again was slim, he had turned to Sansa.

“I cannot be Jon Snow anymore,” he said solemnly. “Not without Ghost or Winterfell.”

“I understand,” she replied gently, pressing close to him as she watched the horizon ahead, waiting for their new world to emerge. “How about I be Jenny and you can be Duncan?”

Jon wrinkled his nose. “Aren’t they lovers?”

“Hmm, we should probably say we are married. I don’t know what the customs are in Essos. Perhaps to be safe, we should tell them we are wed.”

“We’re not wed though,” he pointed out.

“Who is going to know otherwise?” she asked, raising a brow.

***

Within days, he felt at though they could perhaps have a decent life in Bravos.

He shaved his beard and chopped his hair, dying his curls a dark blue as was all the rage in Bravos. And he had become a jack of all trades, so to speak, helping out with the odd job whenever people needed the extra muscle. Which, as it turned out, was surprisingly regular here.

And Sansa, _Jenny_ , had coloured her own the same brown she had hidden behind when she had been Alayne.

She had found work in the fabrics world, mending or making clothes for the richer members of society. Her designs fast became the talk of the town and people were already flocking to their door to demand her talents.

Though he was glad that she was finding things to make her happy, it was in these moments that he struggled to truly forget who they were trying to be. Sewing had always been something he had associated so much with Sansa, that he had to remind himself that while she still liked her pretty dresses, she was no longer Sansa. She never would be again.

At first, it was awkward, sharing a bed. Jon had never truly shared a bed with a girl in a platonic way. He had barely shared a bed with Ygritte when he thought about it. And although Jon and Sansa had been cousins, and Duncan and Jenny were married, he had felt as though he was imposing.

But as the moons passed, he started to fall asleep without thinking of Ghost, standing alone on the coastline. He stopped wondering what Winterfell looked like now, encased in frosted ashes. He found it easier to get up each morning as Duncan rather than Jon Snow. And as the mornings passed, he had woken up closer and closer to his bed mate, until they eventually woke up encased in each other’s arms without a second thought.

And then, one evening, a man had asked him for help with his roof but had stressed he had no money. He was going to let him off this once, he knew people struggled and he wasn’t going to let someone go by without a roof!

But then the man had produced a little harp, one of the small ones that fit in the crook of an elbow. And he could picture Jenny’s face if she were to see it. She loved music and something had told him to take it home.

Her eyes had lit up, as he had presumed and she had thrown her arms around him and pressed her mouth to his.

Later, as he moved inside of her and she writhed and moaned beneath him, he vaguely wondered why they hadn’t being doing this all along.

Before long, her stomach rounded with their child.

They hadn't discussed names yet, the subject too over-bearing. The ones that came to his mind had meant something once. Eddard, Robb, Brandon, Lyanna…but Duncan had no ties to those names. And they weren’t names found in Essos either. He had changed his name for a reason, to avoid being reminded of Westeros and his failures. Westerosi names for their child would bring them too much attention.

Sometimes, he remembered being Jon Snow. What snow had felt like against his skin, the sound of direwolves howling with the wind. Sometimes he could remember Robb with the snow melting in his hair, Bran's laugh and Rickon running wild. And Arya, he remembered her too. But as quickly as Jon Snow returned to him, he pushed him out again. There was no such place for those memories. They were from another life, another time. Before he had failed the world.

Jenny was his only comfort, a promise of hope and spring that he had to cling to. The only thing that had made running away worth it.

A few days later, when he was in the marketplace seeking out peaches for Jenny since they were her latest craving, he had felt as though he was being watched. Yet, no matter which way he looked, he couldn’t see anyone watching him, nobody acting suspiciously.

He had returned home that evening, a bag full of peaches that had his wife hugging him in that delicious way of hers, her rosy scent taking over his senses.

The feeling returned that night, as their sweat-slicked bodies lay curled together. This time, he was sure he had caught the movement of a shadow across the curtain that covered their window but by the time he had opened the door and peeked out, there was nothing and no one at all.

He left for work in the morning as usual, placing a sweet kiss to Jenny’s lips and in her hair before promising to be home for dinner with peaches in hand.

As he turned down the alleyway towards the harbour, somebody stepped out, their body covered in a cloak, the hood hiding their hair as they bowed their head from their sight. He frowned, stepping to the side to move past. But the figure moved too, swift as a deer.

“Excuse me,” he said gruffly.

“That’s a northern accent.”

A girl, he noted from the voice. Something stirred in his memories at the voice, the idea that he should know her. But Duncan knew nobody here but Jenny. The man he had been before knew nobody here either, all those Jon Snow had known before were dead or moved on. Ghost, Rickon, Bran, Robb, father and…

“Arya.”


End file.
